


You walk like you're a God, can't believe I made you weak

by ronnlynch (ohlmes)



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Casual Sex, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Police Brutality, Protests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 09:56:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5286290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohlmes/pseuds/ronnlynch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heavily based on a graffiti that says "do more gay stuff with yr friends! also: fuck cops!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	You walk like you're a God, can't believe I made you weak

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [You and I go hard at each other like we're going to war](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5257997) by [theglitterati](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theglitterati/pseuds/theglitterati). 



> My beta said "I will literally not stop pushing you to write that Enjolras/Feuilly fic until we are in hell together. Maybe not even then." So here it is. This is a companion to her fic, which I strongly suggest you read, but they are independent works.
> 
> Title from "Strange Love" by Halsey.

It’s terrible when a protest is unattended. It had happened many times in the past and it had sometimes made Enjolras feel like maybe Grantaire was right; maybe they were just a group of young dreamers who wanted to cure the world with beautiful words and shiny banners. On the other hand, large crowds can be dangerous. When a protest is too big, you can’t be sure whether people are there for the cause or just because they want to yell and break things. So many people fighting together for something should equal democracy in its purest form, but unfortunately, it mostly attracts bad words from the media and angry police officers.

Today, the latter happened. It was meant to be a peaceful protest, just like most of the previous ones. They planned it for weeks, glued posters around, spread the word on social media, went over the plan thousands of times. It had everything to be perfect, and it was, until everything went to shit. An hour ago, Enjolras had been on top of a platform, with his two best friends at his shoulders, using all his passion and hunger for justice to fire up hundreds of people. Combeferre made a speech, Courfeyrac started the chanting, and Feuilly stayed close, responsible for keeping things in order.

It was all going right, but people just kept arriving, and things started getting messy. That’s when the police came. Being the ahead of the protest, Feuilly and Enjolras went to talk to them. The police claimed there was no authorization for the protest, which was bullshit.

Within no time, they were getting beaten up. Enjolras took a blow or two from a fist and probably a baton before he was being pulled by the hand and walking as fast as he could away from the chaotic mass of bodies. When they got far enough, Enjolras found himself running hand in hand with Feuilly. They ran and ran and ran until they rounded a corner and escaped through an alleyway.

They are safe now. It took Enjolras half a minute to catch his breath, but his heart's still pounding in his chest. He notices that, at some point, their hands broke apart.

“Are you ok?” Feuilly asks, seeming preoccupied. Enjolras glances at him and sees that his right cheekbone looks sore and cut. He doesn’t need to study everything Combeferre and Joly do to know it’s going to be an ugly bruise very soon - his experience as an activist is enough.

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice sounds wrong. Too raspy. He takes a step towards Feuilly to check his wound. He cups the man’s chin with his hand and turns his face slightly to the side to see it better. “Does it hurt much?”

Feuilly shrugs. Enjolras doesn’t move his hand. Feuilly’s own comes up slowly to touch the corner of Enjolras’s lip. Later, he’ll blame the adrenaline, the excitement, the blood blazing through his veins, or whatever comes to his mind for what he does next: Enjolras catches Feuilly mid-movement and kisses him vigorously. When their lips touch, pain blares through his lower lip and he winces, pulling back.

“Sorry!” they say in unison, dropping their hands.

“Your lip is split, can’t you feel it?” Feuilly grimaces.

“Now I can.”

“I’m sorry,” Feuilly says, and Enjolras knows he’s not talking just about his lip.

“No, don’t apologize. It was my fault.”

“It’s ok, Enjolras,” Feuilly says softly. This time he actually manages to touch Enjolras’s face.

Enjolras smiles and it hurts just a little.

Feuilly gets closer to him unhurriedly, giving him time to back off if he wants to. He doesn’t. Feuilly kisses him, this time. It’s a weird kiss. He can tell Feuilly is trying to hold back and be careful.

Fuck careful, Enjolras thinks, as he deepens the kiss. He grabs Feuilly by his shirt and holds his waist. He adds a little more pressure, a little more tongue. It hurts and it tastes like his own blood, but he doesn’t mind. He’s glad that Feuilly responds just as enthusiastically to it.

Eventually, Feuilly breaks the kiss and Enjolras is disappointed for a second, but he changes his mind as Feuilly’s mouth finds his neck. He lets out a sharp exhale as Feuilly kisses his way down to his collarbone, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin. One of his hands grips Enjolras’s hair and the other slides down to grab his ass. Enjolras can’t do much but hold tight to Feuilly’s shirt and let out a broken moan.

Then his cellphone buzzes in his pocket, close to Feuilly’s hand, making them both startle.

“Fuck,” Enjolras mutters, because it just keeps buzzing. Feuilly takes it and hands it to him. On the screen, Enjolras reads Combeferre’s name. He doesn’t hesitate to answer, but he holds a hand to Feuilly’s shoulder to keep him close.

“Hi,” he greets.

“Enjolras, where are you? Are you ok?” Combeferre’s voice drips with worry.

“Yeah, I’m ok. I’m with Feuilly,” he says, glancing at the man in front of him. Feuilly looks at him expectantly. “How are you? Are you with everyone else?”

“I’m fine. Everyone is fine, with minor injuries. We’re at the Musain, like we all agreed.” He can’t help but notice the light reprimand in his friend’s voice.

“Ok, we’re on our way.” Enjolras turns off the phone while Feuilly raises a questioning eyebrow at him. “It was Combeferre. Everyone is at the Musain. Waiting for us, apparently.” He wants to punch himself in the face for being selfish enough to leave his friends behind to make out in the middle of the street. He wouldn’t voice any of this, but he probably doesn’t need to, because Feuilly just grabs his hand and squeezes it reassuringly. Enjolras thinks Feuilly might try to keep holding it, but he doesn’t. He is glad; it would be incredibly awkward to walk hand in hand, even though they’ve just made out.

“Let’s go.” Feuilly says.

The walk to the Musain isn’t very long, and they spend it all in silence. Enjolras’s mind is incredibly busy, trying to accommodate all the facts of this weird, eventful day. When they get close to the café (but still in a safe enough distance so they aren’t seen, Enjolras thinks), Feuilly grabs him by the arm and pulls him close to kiss him again. Now the adrenaline is gone, his lip hurts more, but he chooses to ignore it. Feuilly draws back, looking intently at him.

“If you want, I’d like to continue this later.”

“Yes,” Enjolras replies, too quickly.

Feuilly smiles coyly and nods.

When they enter the Musain, they find their friends close to their usual table, scattered around in small groups. He’s glad to notice that most of them look non-injured, except for Courfeyrac, who has a black eye but is talking animatedly to Bahorel, and Bossuet, who apparently got hit in the head, but is getting fussed over by his boyfriend. Combeferre has his back to them as he attends to Jehan, cleaning the blood from the poet’s slim fists.

Enjolras says “hey,” announcing their presence, and everyone looks at them. Their faces show varying degrees of relief, but he gets a strange look from Grantaire and a knowing one from Courfeyrac. Combeferre looks like he wants to kill him and hug him at the same time. Probably hug him to death.

“Where were you?” Combeferre demands. He looks at Jehan again with a reassuring nod and walks over to Enjolras and Feuilly.

“We ran to escape the police and we… strayed,” Feuilly answers.

“We were worried,” Joly says.

“What happened to your mouth?” Courfeyrac asks, approaching them.

Suddenly it feels like they’re all closing in around him.

“I got hit by an officer, obviously, as I suspect all of you did. Is everyone ok?”

Combeferre nods. “I told you, no one got seriously hurt. I’m gonna need to see that split lip, though. And you, Feuilly, we should do something about that bruise, too.”

“Alright. Then we can talk about what happened at the protest,” Enjolras decides.

Combeferre takes a closer look at Enjolras and decides he doesn’t need to do anything about his lip but put some ointment on it when they get home. “It will heal soon enough,” he says. He also cleans the injury on Feuilly’s face and applies a small bandage. Enjolras uses the time to greet everyone properly.

They have a small and quick meeting, just to go over the facts of the day and decide how they’re going to deal with them during the following week. The whole time, Enjolras makes a big effort to not let it show how distracted he is. He’s pretty sure he’s failing, since he can’t take his eyes of Feuilly, and Feuilly holds the eye contact. When the meeting ends, they disperse again, pretty much everyone saying goodbye and heading home to finally rest. At some point, there are only Enjolras, Feuilly, Combeferre and Courfeyrac left.

“‘Ferre, are you coming with me?” Courfeyrac says, throwing his arm around Combeferre’s shoulder. “You need to keep me awake and make sure I don’t have a concussion.”

“Go with him, ‘Ferre. He needs you,” Enjolras encourages.

Combeferre glances back and forth between Enjolras and Courfeyrac before he says, “Fine. The ointment I told you about is inside the medicine box, ok?”

“Ok.”

“Don’t forget to eat.”

“Ok, dad.”

“Hey, only I get to call him daddy!” Courfeyrac protests, grinning.

“Oh my God,” Combeferre says, as Enjolras shouts “Go away, Courf!”

Courfeyrac lets Combeferre go and embraces Enjolras. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t, Enj!” he whispers into his ear. Enjolras pushes him away, but he still sees Courfeyrac winking at him with his good eye. It’s disturbing.

As Combeferre and Courfeyrac walk out of the Musain, Enjolras realizes he’s alone with Feuilly again.

“So...” Enjolras says, looking at him hesitantly.

“Do you still want to…?” Feuilly asks casually, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“If you want to, yes.” Enjolras shrugs.

“Maybe we could get a drink here, then?”

“No,” Enjolras says, and Feuilly raises his eyebrows. He rushes to clarify. “I mean, I don’t care that much for drinking. Of course, I’ll keep you company if you want, but I thought maybe we could just go to my apartment. Since Courfeyrac made a point of keeping Combeferre out for the evening.”

“Oh,” Feuilly relaxes visibly. “I like the way you think.”

Enjolras smiles, probably flushing deep red.

“Come on, then,” Enjolras motions with his head.

It’s dark outside, and starting to get chilly. They walk close to each other, not-quite-touching, their arms sometimes brushing together.

Enjolras glances at Feuilly. Even though he isn’t short, Feuilly still has a few inches over him. He’s broader in the shoulders and his arms are thicker, more defined. He’s got a full beard, for fuck’s sake, while Enjolras, at 22, had never been able to grow more than a thin mustache. And although Enjolras isn’t the cold, chaste person most people think he is, he’s not very experienced, either. He certainly has never been with someone that much older. Not that Feuilly is old. He’s only 27, but he’s just very… manly.

Feuilly looks back at him and bumps their shoulders together. “Are you ok?” he seems concerned.

“Yeah.” Enjolras scratches his face.

Soon they reach his apartment building.

“This is me,” Enjolras says and guides Feuilly in.

“You seem nervous.” Feuilly says, as they enter the elevator. “Enjolras, we don’t need to do anything if you don’t want to.”

Enjolras steps forward and reaches to place his hand in Feuilly’s neck. “I want to.”

Feuilly touches the small of his back and presses their bodies close together.

The elevator doors open. Feuilly lets him go.

Enjolras walks in front of him and fiddles with his keys, hands shaking slightly in anticipation. As soon as they are in the apartment, Feuilly pins him to the door, his hands on the sides of Enjolras’s head.

“Is this ok?” Feuilly asks; Enjolras just wraps his arms around him and kisses him slowly. Unfortunately, he’s too aware of his swollen, painful lip, which also probably looks pretty bad right now. He pulls back. “Sorry, it hurts.”

“Don’t worry.” Feuilly kisses his cheek. He mimicks what he did earlier, spreading wet kisses down his chin, his throat, under his ear. He moves the collar of Enjolras’s shirt to bite between his neck and shoulder. Enjolras shudders. Feuilly grabs the hem of his t-shirt and starts pulling it up slowly. He looks at Enjolras, asking for permission. Enjolras nods. Soon his shirt is discarded on the floor and Feuilly has more exposed skin to kiss and touch. When Feuilly licks his nipple, Enjolras hisses and runs his hands through Feuilly’s hair, pulling it a little. Feuilly bites down.

“Fuck, okay, okay,” Enjolras says, taking off Feuilly’s shirt. His shoulders are covered in freckles and his chest in light, fine hair. Enjolras grabs at him to bring him closer and the sensation of skin against skin is amazing. Feuilly keeps kissing and nibbling at Enjolras’s skin aimlessly as they rut against each other through their jeans; Enjolras can feel Feuilly getting hard against his hip. “Can I touch you?”, he whispers in Enjolras’s ear. He nods and whispers “yes”, a tad desperately.

Feuilly grabs at the front of Enjolras’s pants and feels his erection. The anticipation is so strong while Feuilly undoes his jeans that, when Feuilly actually touches his cock beneath his underwear, Enjolras lets out a shaky breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Knowing that Feuilly is an artisan, it’s only logical to suppose he would need to be handy, but it’s not even close to the real experience of being touched by him. Feuilly is fucking skillful. He lowers Enjolras’s pants and works both hands on his cock, sliding them up and down in twisting motions that make Enjolras want to yell. Feuilly starts lowering his mouth on him, bending his knees, and Enjolras says “No, not here.”

He guides Feuilly to his bedroom and makes a point of keeping the light on.

Enjolras takes off all his remaining clothes and sits on the bed; Feuilly dresses down to his boxers and follows suit. Not so discreetly, Enjolras opens his drawer and gets lube, condoms and tissues. Feuilly raises his eyebrows at him, delighted, and pushes him to lie down. Enjolras makes himself comfortable and Feuilly positions himself between his legs. He kisses the inside of Enjolras’s thigh while he strokes his cock.

Feuilly grabs one of the condoms and opens the package, maintaining eye contact the entire time. Enjolras can’t help but make a surprised but appreciative face as Feuilly rolls it down on Enjolras. Feuilly he doesn’t waste time in taking him in his mouth.

“Fuck,” Enjolras lets out. Even with the latex between them, the feeling is incredible. Feuilly works his mouth on him with enthusiasm and ease. Soon enough, Enjolras is squirming under him, moaning and muttering incoherent sounds.

Releasing Enjolras’s cock, Feuilly sits back. “I never thought you would be like this, you know,” he says, palming himself through his underwear. “You’re so in control all the time, I didn’t imagine you so… compliant in bed.” He doesn’t sound mean or condescending, though. He actually sounds quite honest.

“Did you think about it before today?” That is the kind of information that Enjolras wants to hear.

“Oh, I did. You show so much passion in meetings, Enjolras. I couldn’t help but wonder if you were _always_ that passionate.”

Enjolras grunts and removes the condom, pulling Feuilly to him and flipping them to straddle his hips. Even though his mouth is not in the best condition, Enjolras can still lick his hand before grabbing Feuilly’s cock under his boxers. “Who’s compliant now, huh?” he laughs a bit, feeling Feuilly’s hips bucking. Of course, he can still use his mouth to do what he does best: talk. “I thought about it too, you know? I’ve always been kind of… awed by you. And today, Feuilly, fuck... I couldn’t take my eyes off you. I just wanted to grab you by the hand and take you somewhere private. I even thought about letting you fuck me in the Musain’s bathroom.”

“Really?” Feuilly croaks.

“Really,” Enjolras says, leaning over Feuilly, still moving his hand.

“Will you let me fuck you now, Enjolras?” Feuilly asks, breathlessly.

“Yes,” Enjolras says, cock twitching at the thought.

“Then let’s stop talking, please.” Enjolras laughs, pulling away from Feuilly.

Feuilly grabs the lube and Enjolras looks at him eagerly as he coats his fingers. “Can you kneel for me?” Enjolras happily obliges, holding on to the headboard. Feuilly kneels beside him, holding his waist, and presses the tip of his finger to Enjolras’s entrance. Enjolras opens his legs a bit more and tilts his hips. Feuilly works him open deftly, kissing his shoulder and caressing the sensitive skin of his abdomen. Enjolras can’t do much but cry out and reach out behind him to grip at Feuilly’s hair.

“Ready?” Feuilly asks, with three fingers inside Enjolras.

“So fucking ready,” Enjolras whines. He waits as Feuilly rolls a condom on.

Feuilly grips Enjolras’s hips and presses inside him in one slick but slow motion. Enjolras strokes himself, waiting to get used to the feeling. He starts moving his hips slowly, fucking himself on Feuilly’s cock, until Feuilly gets the memo and presses close behind him, holding him tight as he meets Enjolras’s movements. “You feel so good, Enj,” Feuilly whispers in his ear, and Enjolras grips the headboard with both hands, feeling a flush spread across his chest at the use of the nickname.

They pick up a rhythm, moving faster and harder. Feuilly keeps whispering nonsense into his ear. Enjolras feels like he’s about to burst into tears because it feels so good, and then Feuilly grabs his cock and he cries out. He’s so glad they’re alone at home. (He doesn’t really give a fuck about the neighbours.) He repeats Feuilly’s name over and over, feeling his orgasm arrive. Feuilly keeps fucking him as he shakes, and then he’s biting down on Enjolras’s shoulder and gripping his hip strong enough to bruise as he comes. They stay together for a few moments, catching their breath.

Feuilly slips out and disposes of the condom. Enjolras uses the tissues to clean them up. They look at each other with bright eyes and red faces and Enjolras smiles, tugging Feuilly to lie down with him. Feuilly kisses Enjolras’s chest before settling down comfortably.

“Hey,” Enjolras says a few minutes later, reaching out to stroke Feuilly’s beard.

“Hmmmm?” He answers, a bit sluggishly.

“What do you think about getting something to eat?”

“Let me recover for ten more minutes and I’ll cook for us, ok?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Enjolras smiles and snuggles closer to him.

**Author's Note:**

> I plan to write many pwp fics for rare Les Mis pairs. Subscribe to the series if you want to see more of this. :)
> 
> Comments are always much appreciated. Also, hmu on [tumblr](http://ronnlynch.tumblr.com/) if you want to chat!


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